Hannah, Cade and the American Dream
by HollyC
Summary: Strange things are happening to Cade
1. Default Chapter

Hannah, Cade and the American Dream

Hannah, Cade and the American Dream

Author HollyC

Rated PG

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Pearson, Peace Arch, Sci Fi, Chris Brancato, Larry sugar, Francis Ford Coppola.I am borrowing them for fun, no profit is being made and no infringement of copyright intended.

There are spoilers for season 3 episodes up to Checkmate.

"Only through time time is conquered" TS ELIOT FOUR QUARTETS
    
     

It's a Spring afternoon, blossoms are just appearing on the trees in the yard and the streets, pushing their fragrance out into the blue sky, the air is full of birdsong every dawn and the long snow is forgotten.I am driving home from work as usual, tired but ready to greet my adorable wife and tell her all about my day.Each day is like this, even after a year of marriage we are still excited to hear about the way each of us has spent the day apart.I hate being separated from her, and all the time at work I think longingly about pressing my lips against hers, crushing my body against her fine figure, burying my nose in her curls to smell the sweetness of lavender there.

Hannah.

She is the one who turned my life around and gave me hope.She helped me put behind me a dark past in favor of the light of a future together, chasing away my despair till I hardly ever thought again about my impoverished childhood.She gave me the love and attention I craved.It's the future I look to now.Not the dim and pain filled past.

I love this car, this red Camaro, roof down, wind caressing my short hair like a lover; I drive along filled with the anticipation of Hannah at the end of my journey.This car represents to me the success I have become.I have a great job selling security, which is ironic considering my criminal past.Hannah says who better qualified than me to sell locks and safes? If it weren't for her and her encouragement, I wouldn't have this job.We have a great life together, no worries, plenty of loyal friends, a house in the burbs and enough money to make life easy. I never had it so good. 

The road is quiet this evening, not many cars about apart from mine, the driving is fast.I am anxious to get home because Hannah rang me before I finished up at the office and said she had some exciting news for me.I pressed her but she wouldn't tell.Hannah can be a tease; that's one of the many things I adore about her.She is so different from other women, from Harley especially.Dark to Harley's blonde, happy to Harley's solemnity.I had never had someone as graceful and honest as Hannah in my life before.When I am driving along like this, the radio turned off, just the sound of wind and soft hum of traffic I wonder what would have become of me if I hadn't met Hannah.Usually I conclude that I would be in jail, or worse, another fatal statistic on an eager cop's record.

I pull the car into the drive of our dream house.I rush out, not even bothering to lock it, secure in the knowledge that we are safe here from people like me.I push open the heavy door and stand in the hallway listening for her steps, on cue she rushes toward me bearing a tiny tray cradling it in her hand like a newborn mouse.It is something I don't recognise and I stare at her puzzled as she approaches me with care, almost tiptoeing on those elegant feet of hers.

"What?What is it?" I cry, breathless.

She doesn't speak, just bestows on me an enigmatic smile and offers me the tray.I relieve her gently of its burden and look down with a frown at the circle with the blue cross.My mind must be slow because it takes me a while to realise the significance of her gift.I put the tray down gently and grin broadly, uncontrollably as I grasp her gently and press my lips against hers then rub my face in her hair.When we pull away, we both realise that we are crying with joy.A baby.I never would have believed that I could take on that responsibility given my background until I met Hannah.I swore to her that I would be the best father ever, that I would read every book available on the subject, that I would go to parenting classes.I would give my child everything I never had.

We spend the evening making plans for our family.

I have been thinking about dreams a lot lately.When I was young my dream was to have a proper family, you know a real American wholesome as mom's apple pie family. A mom, a dad (your real dad not some no good who beats you) and a sister or brother or even both.I gave them names; my sister would be Annie and my brother would be Rob and they would be older than me.When I got into trouble, they would come help me out and we would go to the lake in summer to play together and we'd practise hockey in winter.Rob would give me his clothes when he grew out of them and Annie would fix anything that broke or tore.If any kid set on me, Rob would defend me. When I got hungry, they would feed me but that wouldn't happen often because our Mom would always be there at home to cook for us all and Dad would have a real job in an office so there'd always be plenty of food.

And we'd sit down together to eat as one big family round a big oak table with a starched white clean lace tablecloth. We'd all have good clothes on, Mom wearing a pretty dress Dad bought her from a real shop in the Mall not a thrift shop rag.She'd wear make up and always be smiling showing clean white teeth all in a perfect row behind her painted lips.Annie would sit by me and help me cut my meat and she would smile at me to show her train track braces.The food would be piping hot and in dishes and we'd be able to help ourselves as much as we could fit in our bellies; but not before Dad in his suit said Grace.We would all talk excitedly about schoolwork and our friends and no one would tell us to be quiet.No one would hit us across the ear for venturing an opinion. No one would throw our food at the wall, call us useless bastards, and send us into the dark basement with the spiders and the rats and the water drip dripping down the crumbling walls and the dark shadows that hid the bogeyman.Mom would tell us how she'd been shopping at the store and met Mrs Jakobs and Mrs Bertucci and then gone on to her part time job at the telephone company. There'd be pie and ice cream and soda to drink. 

After dinner, we'd all do our chores like helping with the washing up then there would be time for Dad and Mom to help us with our homework before they tucked us into bed with a goodnight kiss.There'd be homework because I would be going to school regularly every day and not skipping off to take headlamp covers and insignias off of cars or smoke and write graffiti in the washrooms at the mall. I wouldn't spend schooldays by the rail yard throwing stones at box cars with Jeff Hudson and Mitch Pasquale.My friends would all come from good homes with a Mom and dad each like mine and a car in the drive and flowers in the yard.I'd come home from school each day to the aroma of freshly cooked food and fresh flowers and Mom's perfume, not damp, unwashed clothes, rotting food and alcohol and stale cigarette smoke, the scent of sickness and fear. The house would be bright and airy and full of laughter. 

At weekends I wouldn't be joyriding stolen cars, but I'd be at the park with my dad, pitching and running and kicking and practising my slingshot. On sunny days we'd all bundle in our new van and go for a picnic right out of the city.Life would be fun, I would be loved and looked after and never feel afraid.

I still have those dreams sometimes, I try to make them real, a better childhood than the one I had.I feel if I concentrate hard enough, squeeze my eyes tight shut and cross my fingers and click my heels three times, the old memories will disappear and be replaced by those in my dreams. I turn to those dreams in times of need, they sustain me through bad times, times when my life is so unbearable I feel like I want to give up. 

Why am I dreaming those dreams now?


	2. Chapter 2

It's a spring afternoon and if I concentrate very hard I can hear the birds chirruping outside

It's a spring afternoon and if I concentrate very hard, I can hear the birds chirruping outside. The house is silent except for the faint sound of sobs just discernable intermittently.Inarticulate sounds of grief that pierce my soul. Sometimes they are my sobs, sometimes hers, mostly I can't tell the difference. Sobs that start from the deep part of my stomach where the muscles ache like an arthritic old man's and up through my gut and into my throat where they almost choke me shaking my shoulders till my teeth rattle.My breath is coming in fast gasps as if I'd been running the blocks home from school to get away from the bully boy gang that waits to get me cos I'm skinny and small and have no dad. The boys who hide behind fences to jump me cos my clothes are worn and call me trash.

I'm hurting somewhere, maybe everywhere.It's too dark to see the bruises and the cuts so I guess I shall have to wait till someone comes and lets me out before I can take an inventory or I could always shuffle over to where the light streaks through the small window in the far wall.I've been standing up leaning against the staircase for what seems like an eternity, afraid of the pain if I try to move to sit down.He caught the back of my legs with his belt buckle this time, near the top, across my bottom too.But it's the top of my legs that hurt the most where there isn't as much clothing to protect my skin.I can feel something damp round there, could be blood.I could be bleeding; it's hard to tell.I may have wet myself; if that's the case, I'll be in for another beating for sure unless I can hide it from him.I get so numb there it can be hard to tell.I rub my hand gently across the sore and swollen part of my thigh, bring my fingers to my nose, and sniff.It's a metallic smell I recognise and I fight the buckling of my knees, got to keep standing, can't fall over. There's a smell of damp and stale urine in here that is making me queasy.

Wish I knew what I did to get him mad at me this time, wish I could run faster, get away from him.But then I guess I'd have to come back for Mom anyway.If he doesn't beat me, he'll get her instead and she's too ill to take it.I try to follow his instructions but sometimes it's too hard, my fingers just won't do what he wants.One day I'll show him.I'll do what he wants and he won't beat me any more.I'll make him proud of me and then he'll buy me nice clothes and a bag for my books.I have a hockey stick Uncle Harry bought for me last birthday.Sometimes I think I'll hit him with it but I have never dared. I'm real good at hockey; I'm in a team.

My stomach is growling.Can't remember when I last ate anything more than a scrap of bread.Mom gave me breakfast yesterday morning before I went to school, I think she did, sometimes I have difficulty remembering things.She was well enough to come down and she'd gotten dressed too.She looked like she used to and I told her that.He wasn't around.She showed me a picture of my Dad, my real Dad.I think she'd been looking through her old stuff, the stuff she keeps in boxes in the attic.When he's away, she goes up there if she's feeling strong enough.The picture was an old one and he was wearing a uniform, before he went to the war.Mom told me the war killed him before I was born but he was a good man who worked hard and laughed a lot and he made Mom laugh too. She said I could keep it so I hid it away where Ned will never find it.I have secret places. She had some letters from him, from when he wrote her from the war.He had nice handwriting, not like my scrawl.I bet he got straight As at school for his handwriting, I never will and Ned never did.

She showed me something else once but I try not to think about it.I was thinking about it today though and maybe I mentioned something to him about it.Can't remember when it was exactly.I didn't mean to say what I said, it just slipped out.Anyway it was only a puppy or something, Mom said to tell him that it was just that- a dead puppy.It was tiny enough to fit in one of her hands and covered in blood and Mom just sat there holding it.The blood was all over her dress; her legs and her feet were brown and bare.I couldn't take my eyes off of it in her hands.She said she couldn't walk, and would I fetch a towel to wrap it in and then she wanted me to bury it in the yard.When I took it from her, it was cold and I thought as I wrapped it that it looked very pink in the places where there was no blood. It had no fur on it.I never held a dead animal before.Whilst I was digging the hole to put it in I could not stop crying.The tears just ran and ran and I could not stop.I buried it as deep and as quickly as I could and fled back to the kitchen where she was still sitting like she was in a trance.You mustn't tell anyone she said.And if they ask it was just a poor puppy.I nodded at her, eager to please and led her to the bathroom where I helped her clean up before he found her in a mess.If she was messed up like that when he got home there'd be trouble for sure.One of us would get it.I still wonder now if it was a boy or a girl.I'm thinking about it now, fact is I can't stop thinking about it.Whenever I see blood, I think about that poor dead thing still under the cold ground out there.I think that one day I will join it.Some days I really want to join it in the earth away from him and the harsh world.But then I think about mom and how she needs me here with her, protecting her.Why does she let him stay?He wasn't always here.I think there was a time when it was just the two of us and we had happy times together.I'll close my eyes and I'll try to remember what it was like before he came and made us suffer.And if I can't remember then I'll dream.Yeh, that's what I'll do, I'll dream and the pain will go away.


	3. Chapter 3

Another dream

Another dream.It's unsettling and it seems to be getting worse because now I keep finding myself dreaming during the day as well as at night.I rap my desk with a knuckle, yeah, wood veneer and it's real enough to hurt.I am sunk in a burgundy leather chair in my tiny office at Viceroy with a view of Chicago that makes the city look like a gleaming number one tourist hotspot fit to grace the cover of any vacation brochure.I can even see sunlight glinting off of the lake, polluted as it is.If I look hard enough through the wall length window, I can see joggers padding the route on Lakeshore, their damp breath misting the air. At this moment I wish I could join them in their mindless exercise, concentrating so hard on breathing that all other thoughts, intrusive thoughts flee.

I always feel weird after one of my dreams, my "episodes" as Hannah has started to call them as if they were instalments in a weekly daytime soap.It's like I switch off for a minute or two and my eyes glaze over like a dirty window.What I am experiencing, from my point of view, has a conviction to it, has smells and feelings and atmosphere.Damn, it is real to me. It's like time traveling, or at least what I imagine time traveling to be like.My body and mind, my consciousness are all relocated and I see and feel everything like I see this room, this desk, that window, these pencils, this map, now. I feel myself breathing and thinking all in real time.Afterwards I feel like my body and mind are detached one from the other and it takes me a while to come round, a strong coffee helps.Usually I feel weak- closest I can describe it is to say it's like having food poisoning; my body throbs, my stomach heaves, I have a pounding headache as if I were dehydrated. 

I push away the chair and stand bent over and hissing in breaths of recycled office air fighting the nausea.Maybe I have sick building syndrome, that is supposed to make you feel weird and affect your concentration, isn't it?All that dirty germ filled air being blown through the ventilation system gathering more and more bugs as it travels around the building.And you don't know you've got it till it's really made you ill. Or maybe I need to get out more, take more exercise, and maybe I am just not suited to this sedentary life.When I was a thief I didn't get like this, I didn't see things that weren't there, my nights were dream free. I suppose I didn't have much of a conscience then, didn't want or need one.Now I have responsibilities, I have Hannah. 

This is the real world, Cade, your reality, this office, these living nightmares. 

There's a broken pencil between my fingers, the graphite crumbling onto the notepad, my knuckles are white with tension.I fold back into the padding of the chair to contemplate what I have subconsciously drawn there.It's a man's face, no one I know, a face that has been haunting me for weeks.I see that craggy face, usually fronting a severed head, with bulging eyes and bloodied mouth when I unclasp my case, when I open a drawer or a safe door, or a closet or a cupboard or the car trunk.Sometimes those features even superimpose over Hannah's at night when we are embracing like a scene from The Godfather, then I have to stop and recover.We haven't made love properly for weeks.It's not an acid flashback or an ecstasy induced vision.I don't do drugs, haven't done for many years so what's the explanation?

Madness.

I see it in Hannah's eyes when I have the courage to tell her- she thinks I'm going insane and she is afraid of me.I saw it yesterday: the fear in her expression, her brown eyes uncertain of me and what I might do.I know she is wondering if I am going to start stealing again, to revert to my criminal past.I am so unpredictable lately that I know she is losing the trust she had in me.If she stops trusting me what will I do?She is the only secure thing in my world, my safe haven, my rock, my anchor, she has kept me on the straight and narrow all these years, and she's kept me safe.She saved me from myself, she's my redeemer.My world will fall apart if she loses her trust in me because she is the only person who believes in me, and apart from Harry, the only family I have now. 

She wants me to see a psychologist, someone recommended by her Mom.I won't. We argue about it frequently.I know she wants only the best for me; she's doing all this because she cares for me but so far this "thing" has not affected my work and doesn't really adversely affect the rest of my life.She's afraid for me because she loves me.Is it possible I don't love her enough to do what she wants?Or is it simply that I am even more afraid than she is?Petrified of admitting I am going insane?


	4. Chapter 4

Lena: If you could have one perfect day, what would it be

Lena:If you could have one perfect day, what would it be?

Cade: Just a day where I could be like everyone else.

There's warmth on my cheek that I try to ignore.I don't want to wake up just yet, the bed is too snug and my body is totally relaxed and sluggish. I could lie like this forever.Then the gentle murmur of a whispered voice penetrates my slumber, it's a sound I can't resist.I open my eyes and turn my head towards her smile.She is beside me under the comforter gazing at me, I smile in return and our lips meet.I pull out my arm and wrap it round her slender shoulders and whisper back in as sexy a voice as I can muster with cotton mouth, "You really mean that?"

Hannah grins at me and I sigh, thinking to myself, God I love this woman so much, I never ever want to be apart from her, never let her go.If anything ever happened to her I would die, I could not carry on alone. I squeeze her till she squeals then we sink further beneath the comforter to explore each other's body.

I feel my life just keeps getting better and better.

Afterwards we shower together sharing the small space of the bath in silence, content to wash each other slowly with lots of lathered sweetly smelling lavender soap.Then cleansed, refreshed and dressed we descend to our kitchen and share the task of making pancakes from a packet together.Again we talk very little, we are so accustomed to each other we don't always feel the need to fill the spaces with chatter.Seated at the round table we stare at each other over hot java and syrupy pancakes holding each other by one hand, my left resting in her right palm, secure.

Today is Saturday and we are going to the Mall to shop for house stuff.Hannah wants a cabinet for the bathroom, a towel rail to match and new faucets. We also plan to make some alterations in the living room so I want to find light fitments and a fireplace.It feels so good to drive off in the car together, a real couple, Mr. and Mrs. Normal.Sometimes I wonder what life would have been like for me if I had settled on Harley.We would not have been living a respectable life, that's for sure. But we may have gone shopping at stores in The Mall with stolen money.We'd have bought expensive clothes and gadgets for the apartment.Hayley loved gadgets.I wonder where she is now and if she managed to turn her life around like I did.

So here we are, Hannah and myself traveling downtown to look at department stores.I suggest we visit the Thomas Kincade Gallery to buy a painting for the wall.I'm not serious, of course, I just like the name and Hannah appreciates the joke, she knows I am no artist.I want to try out the massaging bed rests at Brookestones, I tell her and our laughter can be heard blocks away.

We enjoy our trip to the Mall amongst the crowds of people, many just like us. We jostle through the throng, parents with babies in strollers, couples holding hands, older people burdened with purchases, teens hanging out together showing tattoos and piercings. On a day like this I feel so grateful to Hannah for the way my life has turned out, that I can mix with people like this and feel normal, like I fit in.We go somewhere special to eat lunch, to Trader Vic's inside the Palmer House.It's Polynesian style, and we order their Chinese buffet passing through the grand lobby first to fill our eyes with opulence.Hannah's parents used to bring us here before we were married; I think to introduce me to something luxurious. They taught me to use chopsticks here. In the afternoon, we walk by the Oak Street beach, which despite the cold is still a magnificent experience. We sit there for a while discussing our purchases and making plans for tomorrow, fixing up plans.

As the sun begins to lower, we return to my treasured car, and drive slowly home where we will have a pizza delivered before watching a rented movie and going to our bed, together.

Mr. and Mrs. Foster.

A perfect day.


	5. Chapter 5

Is it normal to keep having these waking dreams

Is it normal to keep having these waking dreams? 

I hear sirens; really loud buzzing in my ears like a fly is caught there.I flick up a hand to brush it away but there's some sort of resistance.I can't lift my hand. I am swaying over to one side and now back to center, in a nauseating movement. Am I lying flat on something hard?Could I be in some sort of vehicle?My eyelids are too heavy to lift, feels like something is resting on them. I can lift one of my legs a little way and so I kick out and feel the thwump of an impact on what feels like soft flesh.A grunt answers my action, confirming its accuracy. When did I get so unfit?So weak? 

There's an underlying sound of panting, of asthmatic breath being heaved into constricted lungs punctuated by the occasional dry cough, and still the sirens above it all whine piercingly.I try to lift the other arm to meet again that same resistance.There are voices now, deep and unrecognizable.I strain to hear the words, their meaning but the wheezing and the shrieking get in the way.

There is an unpleasant smell here too.Strongly alcoholic: whiskey.Ned used to smell like that.Don't go there, Cade.Also I think I am hot, very hot.I must have a fever.Yes, I must be delirious.Mom will come soon and give me medicine, stroke my hair and cool me with a damp cloth, which she will wipe tenderly across my brow.And she will speak softly to me about her dreams, about how much I mean to her, about how I am her treasure and that whatever happens she will always love me.

Relaxing for a minute despite thenausea, I try to work out what is happening to me.I'm in a moving vehicle, it's dark or maybe my eyes are closed.If they are closed maybe I can open them?I concentrate hard, trying to ignore the fly in my ear.That persistant buzzing fly.No. They won't open. It's still dark.Am I scared?I can't decide.

I'm draining away.

Then I feel someone grab my arm and I lash out with my feet again."Leave me alone," but the words are locked in my mind, my voice won't work.There is something I have to stop him doing.I hear a voice, a familiar voice but I don't know whose it is.It's a man's voice."Whatever happens don't let them give you an IV."

Instinctively I push the man away again as the sirens stop at last and I feel the motion cease and a sound of doors swinging open under force.More unintelligable voices and a refreshing blast of cold air caresses my hot body.Now I am being carried into a building, wheeled along a smooth floor where the smells are of blood and antiseptic and fear.The sounds of footfalls are echoing beneath the buzzing.

I am becoming more detached from my body.I'm losing my senses one at a time. Did I take something?Was it drugs?Is this another dream? The motion stops but my breaths are still shallow and painful. Someone lifts up my arm and speaks, not to me, to another person in the room.Finally I crack my eyes open a slit and glimpse a blur of white coats.

It's a hospital.A very strange one.There is something I must do.

I have to remember.


	6. Chapter 6

My head is fuzzy like the feeling I get the morning after the night before, a night of heavy drinking

My head is fuzzy like the feeling I get the morning after the night before, a night of heavy drinking.I lie still for a while before I open my eyes, listening, listening for clues, for sounds that will tell me where I am.I was hoping to feel the softness of my bed at home, the warmth of Hannah's sleeping body beside me, the sighing of her sweet breath, the weight of a comforter.But instead I can feel a coldness surrounding me and the mattress is hard and unyielding, the blanket, rough.There is a familiar smell in the air as I take a deep breath, a smell I had long ago forgotten and hoped I would never smell again.The smell of too many men living too close together, the smell of metal and sweat and acid and stale institution food. The smell of men in despair, men in pain, men with lost hope. The smell of evil deeds, revenge, drugs, bartering, cruelty and desperation.The smell of my vomit, my criminal past.

I know where I am now.

2700 South California Avenue.Hell.

I lie still because I don't want to be noticed.I don't want them to come for me again.The soreness of my throat reminds me that even the men who are in charge hate me enough to try to choke me into submission, to tame me.Without looking I know I have burns from the handcuffs, from where they dragged me across the floor by my hands and called me names.I can't go to them for help from the drug addicts, the HIV positives, the pimps, the murderers, the psychopaths who are all out there waiting.Theysmirk and call me "Pretty boy," and stroke me.I hide in the library, hide in the garden praying they won't find me and damage me.I thought I was tough till I came here.Here they try to force drugs on you, if you refuse they beat you. I can feel the bruises, the aching joints even now as I lie still in this bed.Lying still and trying to keep safe.My muscles ache from the effort and tears begin to prick at my eyes. 

I try to block out the image of a young man hanging from his trousers staring at me,a look of surprise on his face.Two suicides since I came here and I wonder if I will be next.Sometimes I think taking my life would be the easy way out.Getting away before one of them finally catches me and succeeds in taking me, raping me.

I am worthless and abandoned.

Is this a waking dream?

.

Did they catch me again?What have I forgotten?

I can hear footsteps along the polished vinyl floor.I hear screams from the insane.I try to plug my ears, stop the sound from penetrating my consciousness, hunch further under the blanket.There's nowhere to hide from the despair of others in here.No privacy, no safety.Someone is coming to get me and I have no defense.

Please God, let this be a dream.


	7. Chapter 7

It's a beautiful Spring afternoon and I am driving back home, singing along to a familiar tune on the radio

It's a beautiful Spring afternoon and I am driving back home, singing along to a familiar tune on the radio.

The warm wind is blowing gently through my hair, carrying with it the scent of opening blossoms. A scarlet petal falls onto my sleeve, I brush it tenderly away. 

I am picturing Hannah in my mind as I drive.She is wearing white like she did on our wedding day and is smiling that special Hannah smile.She rang me at the office, excited with news, said come home soon.But teasing Hannah would not tell me what it was, "wait till you get home," she whispered in her sweet voice. I won't ruin her good news, I won't tell her what I saw in my briefcase, what lurks in the trunk and the strange man who haunts me.I won't tell her about my sore throat and the factthat sometimes I feel like I can't breathe properly, the air just won't fill my lungs.I won't tell her about the noises I hear, the beeping, mechanical sounds that remind me of my mother's death.She doesn't need to know about the voices I hear or the feeling that I have that I am living another life somewhere else.The dreams I have, the waking dreams of a woman with long red hair and a man with a sword and numbers that mean nothing.Of a great conspiracy I have to stop,of the knowledge that there is something I must do.Something really urgent that I have to do.Hannah must not know any of this because it would make her sad, she would know for sure then that I am crazy.

Like Eddie.

I won't tell her about the flashbacks.

Look I'm having one right now. 

I see a door.It has a number on it-19.I slowly push it open.I am in a hospital room where the smells are clean and fresh, lots and lots of flowers everywhere.And there as I cautiously approach her, my white clothed mother hooked up to tubes that make no sense to a twelve year old.She isn't dead, just sleeping, her red eyelids shuttering eyes that went dull a while ago. 

Soon I will be an orphan.

There's a squealing sound, a loud screech, the monitors are flashing, I am pushed out of the room by someone, I can't tell who, nurse, doctor.I am too dazed to register what is happening.The screeching gets louder and louder.

I look up.There is a tree in front of me.Why is there a tree in my Mom's hospital room?I hear a voice shout, the words are indistinct, I can't hear properly above the pounding of my heart. There is a man screaming in anguish somewhere and a pressure in my arms. My throat hurts, it is raw with screaming.My arms are heavy and sore. My chest is cold.I slept too long. I dreamt too much in pain.

There is something I have to do.There is someone who needs me. I have a mission.

I struggle to open my eyes again and see a body, I am clasping a woman, a dead woman with curly brown hair.Pulling her against my nakedness, I close my eyes, let the tears fall. Open them again.

The tree is much larger now.There is a thud.

I close my eyes again.


	8. Chapter 8

I don't know her name

I don't know her name. She has a lot of reddish brown hair, I think it's called Chestnut-like the tree.It falls around my head like a veil.Her skin is pale and it's cool to my touch as I caress it.I am lying down inside a haze. Someone has laid me out, like death. I am almost dreaming.

There is a shroud around us, which shimmers like a cobweb as if a soft breeze were blowing through it.I can't see through to the other side.Maybe we are alone; maybe we are the only people in the universe; myself and this beautiful woman above me. I can't remember who I am any more; I am just a sensation, an object, a body.I am barely alive.

I feel her wind her legs around mine, her soft flesh pressing into my cool flesh till there is no space between us as far as our waists.Her heart beats against my ribs.Her blood does not warm me.I offer no resistance.

Glancing down at my body, I see that I am naked too. Passive, naked and weak as a newborn baby.Is she an angel?Am I blessed to be chosen by an angel? She is holding my face gently in her hands and I cannot avoid her eyes as she lowers the rest of her body to meet my own and encloses me. She smells of lavender, she smells of desire. I crave her touch; I hunger for her body.Enmeshed, entangled and woven together we writhe and moan our way to the fulfilment of our lust.We are matched for length, a perfect fit.

I am not in control here.

Yet, we sigh together as a sign of completion and we relax, synchronised.In my mind's eye, I see clearly sperm meeting egg, fertilisation, and the promise of new life and it saddens me. 

She presses her sweat dampened cheek to mine; her eyelashes stroke my jaw as she closes her eyelids.Her hair falls around me like tiny snakes. I feel the muscles of her mouth form a smile.She does not let go.

I still don't know her name.

Beyond the silence, I hear soft weeping.I ignore the salty tears that drip into my ears. My heart feels no elation, no satisfaction.Within the tightness of my spasming chest, it feels betrayed.

A name speaks itself to me borne on the tears:Mabus.

I close my eyes but the weeping continues.


	9. Chapter 9

Some things kind of stick in your mind, don't they

Some things kind of stick in your mind, don't they?

Significant things, trivial things.I find it hard to sort the nuisance memories from the useful ones.That's why I like driving this car without the roof.I get a sense of freedom, my head clears and I start to put my life in order, gain a bit of perspective.

Take Hannah for instance.She has such a crystal clear mind; she cuts right to the heart of any matter.When I tell her about the strange woman in my head, she'll tell me straight what to do about it.And the man too, the man called Eddie with the earring.That is a bizarre thing that earring, I would never hook up with an earring guy. Not now I am respectable.

I'm going to tell her about the sword that killed Lincoln and the Airstream Trailer. 

That trailer, so vivid I can almost walk into it right now and tell you exactly where everything is.For example there is Eddie's chair, the one that he swivels round in to give me a piece of earth shattering news like I was kidnapped at the age of 12 or the reward for capturing me has gone up another thousand dollars- weird things.There's his computer, switched on and searching the web for references to words in the quatrains.There's his model of a wise monkey, and up there his Route 66 plaque by his white hat. Over here is the fridge with his Jolt cola and the makings of a disgusting sandwich inside.A discarded plate here on the counter top next to a mug of cold coffee and a pair of sunglasses. Over here, my bed, still warm from my body, the blankets all wrinkled.Here a pile of laundry waiting for Eddie to hang it out, on the top a pair of orange knee length socks.A Bulls cap, a black and white photograph of a soldier, a Hawks bag containing tools of the trade.My trade.A fake ID.Another fake ID.And another.With my face on all of them.

As I look around I am hit by a profound sense of loss, it's like a blow to my stomach. 

There's another bag and in it I know there is a rifle.I know Eddie used that rifle and thinking of it brings cold chills to my body. 

Who are we? 

The bag that rests beside it is just as familiar to me.It's a medical bag full of equipment that would normally belong to a paramedic.

If I pull back the shades and look out of the window, I know I will see a hammock and an old worn Cadillac.A Caddy that has come to my rescue like a white horse bearing a knight in shining armour more times than I can count.Eddie's Caddy.

My white knight is Eddie.

A rail here with our clothes hung up neatly waiting to be worn.See that shelf there?We hide things behind those books. There aren't as many as there used to be since…since.Since the glass was smashed.There's a drawer here, look, inside it is my pistol and some ammunition.I know how to use it.How do I know that? I don't know when I learnt to use one of those.

In this other drawer, under a pile of papers, an autopsy report, is a locket with bird on it and a ring, a wedding ring.My wedding ring that should be on my finger, the ring that Hannah put on my finger the day we got married.See I told you my memories don't all make sense.That's why I need Hannah.Need her so much.Need her to help me work out what these visions mean.Need her to find whatever it is I have lost.

There's a photograph in the drawer too.I pick it up in trembling fingers.I'm not sure I want to see this photo.I bring it into focus, it is Hannah.A photo of Hannah.

Then that feeling hits me again, it's a physical blow.Hannah is dead.I want to die.

I let go of the steering wheel.

There is a tree growing in my field of vision.

A Chestnut tree in candled blossom.

I lift my arms up and shield my face.

There is a loud thud.

The world turns crimson.

All I can hear beyond the silence is my voice.I am weeping.


	10. Chapter 10

Eddie is talking to me

Eddie is talking to me. I have grown to love the sound of his voice and his funny way of telling stories, his weird tastes in food, his wild clothes.You never know with Eddie, what he might do next.Take for example that day he got the invitation.Well he could have gotten the invitation weeks back, but he chose to tell me all about it at the last minute.He was picking out something to wear for a reunion, a school reunion.I remember thinking boy that would be a thing, wouldn't it- to be invited to a school reunion?I lost count of the number of schools I went to. No school reunions for me, not ever, you can bet your life on that.I was envious of Eddie then as I watched him try on unsuitable clothes, modelling them for me with infectious enthusiasm.The most I learnt from school was how to forge an absence note.It must be a good feeling to anticipate meeting up with old school mates.

Crazy Eddie and his allergies, his obsessions.

Then there was the business with the name-Larry Pisinski.That hurt me, just a little. In all the time I knew him, he had never thought to tell me, in spite of the fact that we were close as brothers and kept no secrets.I'd bared my soul about Hannah, fessed up about Harley and my stint in Cook County, I thought there were no secrets between us then I find that out about him.That who I thought of as Eddie Nambulous wasn't, wasn't ever really him…just some stranger called Larry Pisinski.

So, what do I call him-Larry or Eddie?And what other surprises would be waiting for me next week or next month?He had his reasons.Sure, he had his reasons, but not to tell me his best friend that he wasn't ever who he said he was?But heck, I love him, he's saved my ass more times than I can count with his potions and his quick thinking and I can't bear grudges against him.So I smile and nod at him and give him advice.It's like he was going to the Prom all over again.And even though I never got to do that even once, I don't begrudge him his chance at happiness- at seeing old friends, like Mary Anne, who must be someone special to him.It's a new side to Eddie, and I'm feeling privileged to see it, privileged to hear the joy in his voice as he speaks to me.

Now he is gone and I feel bereft, abandoned.This isn't what we do; it's not the way it goes. I go out and he stays here.This chair is Eddie's place, it's not mine, this is his Airstream.We have our duties well defined: the alien hunter goes out and hunts aliens; the paranoid genius stays in by the computer and provides research and backup.A simple plan. 

He could be in danger, God help him, Eddie could get hurt.I am the one who goes out there into the dangerous world not my paranoid friend.I am lost here, stuck in, pinned down like a caged lion.Yes, right down to the pacing.Relax, Cade, sit, read a book.He'll be all right, just a school reunion.Gua don't go to school reunions, do they?He has his pistol and he can use it. Still I had to go, didn't I?I had to go help him.You help your friends after all, you have to, it's only fair, it's the right thing to do.

Ok, then, here he is now, talking to me.I can't see him at all, just hear his voice.Maybe he is on the phone and that is why I can't see him?Maybe I have the earpiece tucked snugly in my ear, his reassuring presence in my skull, telling me where to go, how to get out of this mess I'm in. He's probably engaged in some bizarre activity, creating a pizza, cleaning the carburettor, doing Buns of Steel, hanging out the washing, digging up the book., whilst simultaneously searching the net for help, for Gua, for messages, for me. 

What's he saying?There's a lot of static, it's a buzzing like a bee, like a swarm of bees.Soon I will lose consciousness, I can recognise that feeling.Then the bees will fly off and he will be there again to jab me in the chest with some puke inducing concoction of chemicals. I stretch out my hand, but it meets no resistance, just flails in the cold air.Where are ya, buddy?I need you. 

Need you now.


	11. Chapter 11

One day Harley came to see Cade

One day Harley came to see Cade.She knocked at his apartment door.Knock Knock.Cade was buried under the covers in his dark bedroom.His muffled voice floated to the door.Harley could barely hear him.

"What, what you say, Cade?"

"Go 'way," was the reply.She could hardly make out the words but she recognised the tone.Cade was not a morning person.

"Get outta bed, Cade and answer the frickin' door.I got something for you." Harley bellowed.

Cade pulled the pillow over his head and burrowed deeper into the soft old mattress.

"I'll break the door down.You got ten. One. Two. Three…"

Cade reluctantly crawled out from under the blankets and dragged himself across the floor to the door.He flung it open as she reached "…ten," and stood swaying and squinting at the tall blond woman in sunglasses before him. 

"Oh. 'syou."

With that, he turned round, bunching the bed sheet tighter around his middle with one hand and rubbed at his cropped hair with the other. His back twinged at the movement, it was going to be a bad day, he could tell.Ever since he'd carried that safe down the stairs, he'd had a recurrent back pain.He idly considered seeking help about it.Maybe go to a doctor.He was feeling like an old man these days.

"What time?"

"Dunno," giggled Harley as she flopped on the threadbare couch. "Lost my key.Forgot my watch."She stared at her long jeans clad legs.

Cade sighed as he plodded to the kitchen area and put a kettle on the gas.He searched through the cupboards for coffee; his eyes clogged with sleep hindered his search.He could hear Harley continue to giggle as she rooted down the couch cushions in search of her elusive key.

Cade tipped coffee from the jar into two mugs then returned to observe his friend.She smelt particularly pungent today, like burnt rope.

"What you got, Harley?"Cade's voice was weary.

"Some weed. Peace weed, zombie weed, wobble weed.Weed." Her voice was husky, sexy in a way that made Cade shiver.

"What, you high?"

"Sure Cade you want some?"She pulled some rolling papers out of the pocket of her leather jacket and waved them at him."Come get it Cade." She teased. "Pipe or joint?"

"I'm just doing coffee today, Harl.I need a clear head."

"Not just weed, Cade.Angel dust."She grinned at him her eyes wide, unfocussed, the pupils appeared to float.Cade stared at them in fascination.

He was aware that she was rolling a joint as she spoke.She lifted it to her lips and very slowly ran a tongue along its length.Cade was mesmerised.He didn't know how Harley did it but the effect she had on him was always the same.He was putty in her hands.

"No, Harley.Say you didn't.You know what it does to you."He tried to resist.

"Aw come on Cade, just a teensy weensy iddy bit.You'll feel so much better."

Harley lit the joint and inhaled deeply settling deeper into the couch and stretching out her long legs.She held the cigarette out to Cade.

Cade took it. Cade raised it to his lips.

Harley sighed.

Cade inhaled.Deeply.

The kettle began to whistle.

Harley laughed. Cade exhaled.

Harley laughed more.

Cade inhaled.The pain in his back began to ease.

Harley stopped laughing.

Exhaled.

Cade giggled.

Inhaled.

Silence.

Sirens. Cade exhaled.

Cade strained to listen for his heart beat. 

He heard silence.


	12. Chapter 12

Oh boy, oh boy

Oh boy, oh boy.I've been dreaming again.I hate that feeling you get when you can't tell a dream from real life.It's happening too much to me these days.Ever since that accident. I'm not going to open my eyes yet, I know now to be wary of doing that.I was dreaming of Harley and that time we smoked something really bad, really really bad.We were both sick for days. We couldn't even leave the apartment we were so out of it.I don't remember much about that time because my mind just blew, completely blew.I feel like that now.I feel like I have completely lost my mind, like I'm on a bad trip, but I don't do drugs any more, not after that time with Harley.It scared me too much.I like to be in control.

So, I am just going to lie still here whilst I get my head together and listen to the sounds around me.

I wonder if it is morning.I can't tell through my eyelids, sometimes if the sun is steaming in through the trailer window I can feel it's warmth and from the red haze it creates tell that it is mid morning.I'll concentrate on listening; try not to let my mind wander so much.Come on Cade focus.

  
Ok what do I hear?It's quiet but I think I can hear someone breathing nearby and a rustle, maybe of paper.Is someone near me reading a paper?It could be Eddie though usually when I wake up after him he is using the computer; he doesn't go in for hard copy much, except The Paranoid Times.No other sounds, no cars no voices.

So where am I?I am thinking maybe I am in the Airstream.But just in case, I will not open my eyes just yet.It is a good survival technique, Jordan taught it to me.

OK.Now I will take in a deep breath.

I must have dozed off for a minute.White light flashed across my eyelids and now there are different sounds penetrating my consciousness.I can smell a scent like the one Jordan wears.Maybe Jordan is here.I open my mouth to speak her name and find I cannot make words, can't make a sound because there is some sort of obstruction in my mouth.I can't swallow either and I am trying not to panic.I won't panic.It could be a Gua experiment so I must keep still and quiet and not let them know I'm awake and on to them.

I give the muscles of my arm an order to raise my hand, but nothing happens.It is as if my brain has been disconnected from my body.I feel completely numb.Sometimes I wake up with that feeling of my leg having gone to sleep.It's a bit frightening at first, then after rubbing it, the circulation resumes and the feeling comes back.I feel like that now, but it is as if my whole body has gone to sleep.I don't feel anything at all. Maybe it is time I opened my eyes.But I am afraid of what I will see.Was I thinking of Hannah and the lost baby?Or was that someone else?Everything is mixed up and confused.Must have been one hell of a party.

Ok I think it happened again.I think I lost some time there because the air feels cooler and the sounds are different.I can hear some sort of machinery like a pump of some sort and I know there is no pump in the Trailer.So, I am not in my bed in the trailer.There is a powerful smell of flowers like you only ever get when someone is…when someone has…

Is that why I can't feel anything?

Did they get me at last?Did they take my brain out of my body?Did they finally dissect me?Am I dead?


	13. Chapter 13

Oh when did breathing in become so difficult

Oh when did breathing in become so difficult?I try to suck in a breath of cool air, life giving oxygen and panic hits me like a blow to the sternum.Have they taken my lungs from me?Surely I would have felt it?And wouldn't there be pain?Mind blowing and excruciating pain.Is that why my throat hurts so much, have I been screaming in pain?I don't feel that sort of pain now.There's tightness all over my torso, a constriction as if I am in a harness. A harness?Like those used by the Gua, the ones they hang suspended in whilst they have consciousness inserted, or even removed. I can feel the straps pulling on my legs, across my chest, supporting me because I have no way to support myself.Yes, that's right, I can feel the pressure against my legs, it is almost sharp as if the fabric were coarse like hessian.It would have to be strong and tough to hold a body, a dead weight.My arms are numb; they must be anchored in some way. I cannot move my fingers, maybe they amputated them.I dare not think about it.What I have to do is listen, listen very carefully for clues.

But listening is tricky when you are floating, isn't it?Especially with the wind rushing through your ears.

I feel like I have been dreaming for a long long time.My brain is kind of sluggish.I seem to remember odd things but all out of sequence. I was with Hannah but I was also with Eddie and with Jordan too. Sure, if I concentrate hard I can hear voices hidden within the electronic sounds of the Gua machinery but I can't tell what they are saying.Sometimes I think I hear someone call my name.It could be Eddie.I wish it were Eddie. Or Jordan, or even Joshua.Any one who knows me, just to show me I can see, feel, that I am alive still instead of in this limbo.I wonder if this is what it is like to have your consciousness removed from your body?Has my body been stolen by Mabus and my brain or whatever it is they take away to be pickled in formaldehyde andstudied?

Have they finally managed to dissect me?

Voices again.Calling my name now.I'm right aren't I?Should I nod to let them know I hear? Can you nodwhen you are disembodied, when you haven't got a head?There's an absurd thought, I feel like I should laugh at it. Can you laugh when you haven't got a mouth?

"He's coming round."

Okay then I will laugh, I will open my mouth.It works I can feel something pulling on my throat and it makes me gag.I am going to vomit.Okay so I have a mouth and lungs because now for the first time I can breathe in air and it is a wonderful feeling despite the fact it hurts like hell. So not in a harness at all.I can breathe in relief and it feels so good, so wonderful.I can smell the sweet scent of spring flowers and disinfectant, a hospital smell.

I feel something cool on my cheek, my head, reminds me of my mom when she stroked me whenever I had a fever.She is whispering to me.Please God don't let this be a Gua trick because I am going to open my eyes.I am going to open them now.

Bright, too bright.Blink furiously Cade then focus through the moisture filling them up.Two faces close and above me.That means I am lying on something.It feels like a bed, a comfortable bed, not a harness at all.I lift up a hand to pull at something that is hurting in my arm and feel it caught in a warm firm hand.I can't move my head enough to see whose hand it is.The faces are separating from the blurred mass and I see the two dearest people to me in my world.

Jordan's voice is like a peaceful blessing as it says, "At last."

And when Eddie places a hand on my shoulder and whispers in a choked up voice, "Welcome back, bro," I know I am safe and where I belong and that time has righted itself for good. 

I am home.

The End

This story was inspired by my nephew who fell into a coma after being beaten to death.He died 3 times and was revived.When he regained consciousness weeks later he was not as lucky as Cade.He now has no short term memory at all and has severe mobility problems.

This story is dedicated to him.


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